


Scars of our Hearts

by snarkymuch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Scars, shared pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 23:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: Michelle had gone through life watching scars come and go on her skin. She had no hand in causing them, but she knew who did—her soulmate. She was one of the few to be born with soulmate in a world where they were rare and misunderstood. Some would say she was lucky, if you could call it that, living your life with little chance of ever finding you mate. She tried not to think about it, until one day, it stopped. She could never imagine how things were about to turn out.





	Scars of our Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So, my awesome friend and pre-reader, [Erica45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erica45/pseuds/Erica45), challenged me to write a Peter/Michelle fic, which is like my kryptonite, so to make it even harder on myself, I decided to make it a soulmate fic. Because if you're gonna do it, do it all the way. I hope you like this! I have never written this pairing, or really more than a line or two of Michelle before, so this might not be great.

Everyone knew about soulmates, though not everyone was born with one—most weren’t. They were uncommon and looked at like an oddity. No one knew the reasons or science behind them. They just seemed to be an anomalous thing that connected two people through a bond from birth—temporary scars etched on your skin in the place your soulmate had been injured, and in extreme cases, the pain that went with it.

For children, it usually meant seeing the faint lines of a skinned knee as one tried to ride a bike for the first time or scrapped palms from tripping over your own feet. They were nearly always painless—it took something intense to send pain through the bond.

Some speculated why the bond worked like it did. There had been studies, but nothing was ever concluded. A running theory was that the pain sharing acted like a failsafe, a beacon reaching out trying to alert the other they needed help, some leftover vestige of the primal need to survive. There had been a few accounts of soulmates throwing themselves in harm’s way to save the other, even before they knew they were connected, but those claims were mostly unsubstantiated.

Michelle didn’t know what she believed, but she did know she had a soulmate. She’d seen the marks form over the years, ghosts on her skin that faded within the day. Her mother had told her the first one she’d seen was when Michelle was learning to walk. She’d been holding onto the coffee table, looking up when she'd noticed a mark on her chin—a little line that had no right to be there.

Growing up, she rarely got hurt, so she knew she rarely left a mark for her soulmate to see. She would sometimes wonder if they even knew she existed—if they’d ever meet. It wasn’t uncommon to never find each other. The odds were stacked against it happening. Your soulmate could be anywhere. There was no guarantee that you’d stumble into each other, and even if you did, you might pass right by and never know. It was a faulty system at best, and as much as she wanted to believe in miracles, she was resigned to the fact they'd likely never meet.

Over time, she learned things about her soulmate through the connection they shared. Starting with how clumsy they were. They always seemed to be getting hurt. It wasn’t uncommon for her to find little marks echoing their accidents. Most were minor, except for once when it looked like they'd cut the top half of their finger off. That little accident was the first time she felt a real twinge of pain. It was subtle but there, a faint impression brushing against her finger. She wondered how it'd happened, imagining possible ways you could nearly lop a finger off. She smiled to herself and decided if they ever met, she’d make sure to ask them.

She did that a lot, making plans for conversations she knew may never happen. It was silly and hopeful, but she let herself do it anyway. The chances they’d meet were small. At least she could dream a little. It gave her a little comfort when she didn’t have much else. Friends didn’t come easy to her. She never did fit in—always on the outside, sitting back and keeping to herself. Her books kept her company. She could get lost in them and often did.

It was a Tuesday and raining when her life changed for the first time. She was sitting in the chair by her bed when she felt a sudden flare of pain settle into her bones. It was so intense that she thought she was dying. She couldn’t tell whose pain it was—just that it hurt. It burned and seared through her, and she cried out in her room, teeth gritted against it. It was her whole body, every fiber of every muscle.

Broken by it, she called to her mother, who came rushing to her room. There were tears in her eyes as she looked to her mom. “It hurts. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it hurts.”

She was quickly taken to the hospital, and after a series of tests, it was diagnosed as transferred pain. Something had happened to her soulmate—something terrible. She was given a note to stay home from school until the pain passed. The doctor told her it wouldn’t last forever; either her soulmate would heal, and the pain would fade, or they would die, and the connection would break.

She cried in relief and heartache when the pain suddenly ended two days later, knowing it could have meant her soulmate’s death.

She waited and watched the following day, looking for any sign they were still alive, anything to give her hope. Even if they hadn’t met, they’d always been in each other’s lives. She didn't want to lose them.

There was no sign of them, though.

Days passed and not a hint of pain or a scar on her body. She cried herself to sleep on the seventh night—accepting they were gone. No one lived through whatever had caused that pain, and she knew it.

It was hard being around people after that. The closest thing she had to friends, Peter and Ned, seemed to notice her solemn mood and tried cheering her up with Wookie impressions or by making bad puns, but their attempts fell flat.

What she'd lost couldn’t be fixed with a joke. People who lost soulmates rarely recovered, whether they had met them or not. People who never had one, never had that connection, they didn’t understand what it felt like to have it taken away. She wouldn't wish it on anyone.

The bell rang, and Michelle made her way out of the classroom and into the hall, bag over her shoulder. She pushed her way past the other students and headed toward the doors. She just wanted to go home and curl up with a book and try to forget. She’d been doing a lot of that lately.

Ned and Peter were up ahead by Peter’s locker. Ned was talking animatedly as Peter gathered his things and put them into his bag. They were both laughing and smiling about something. She nodded to them as she passed. She didn't get far before she heard someone call after her.

“Hey, wait up.” Ned’s voice came from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder to see him jogging up to her, Peter trailing behind.

“What’s up?” she asked, brows knit together.

Ned smiled. “We’re gonna go grab some sandwiches from Delmar’s, wanna come?”

She looked over at Peter, who gave a nervous smile as he tried to meet her gaze. “You don’t have to or anything,” he reassured her. “I know you probably have better things to do than hang out with us. We just thought you might want some company.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. They were both great, but the wound was still fresh. She schooled her features, taking a breath. “Maybe next time.”

A look of disappointed flickered across Peter’s face, and she immediately felt a pang of guilt. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Hey, I mean it. Ask me again sometime. Today's just not good.”

He seemed to brighten at that, smiling and giving her a nod. Ned elbowed him in the ribs and waggled his eyebrows. She shook her head and called them dorks before turning and heading down the hall.

When she got home, she went to her room and threw herself onto her bed, arm going over her eyes. She was a mess, and she knew it. Something about the look in Peter’s eyes when she turned him down, it caused a twinge of something in her—something she felt guilty for.

She'd had a soulmate. It felt wrong to want someone else. Why had she been cursed with one? It wasn’t fair. She never even got to know his name, and now she was already moving on. What kind of person did that make her?

The light from the window began to fade and shift into the yellowed hues of the streetlights. Michelle's mother poked her head in to check on her and coax her to eat, but she just rolled onto her side and drew her legs up to her chest. She wasn’t hungry. She watched the red numbers of her clock slowly change and listened as her mother washed the dishes and then settled down for the night.

She was staring off, unfocused when it happened. It made her choke on her breath. It felt like a hot poker had been stabbed into her stomach, but it wasn't her pain. The pain was coming through their connection. She welcomed the feeling. Lifting her shirt, there was a small scar—round and neat on her stomach. She didn’t know what they’d gotten themselves into, but she knew they were alive, at least for now. Somewhere out there, their heart was still beating. She laughed with tears in her eyes as she called out to her mother.

Her mom rushed in, looking at her with wide eyes. “Michelle? Are you alright?”

She nodded hastily, still clutching her stomach. “They’re alive. Whoever they are, I can feel them.”

Her mother smiled, but there were lines of worry etched on her face. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

Michelle blinked, a frown forming on her face. “Do you think they’re okay?”

Her mother shook her head. “I wish I had the answers. I never had a soulmate, though, so I don’t know what to say, but I understand why you’re nervous after what happened before.” Her mouth pressed into a tight line. “Maybe it’s best not to think too much about it—just try to live your life. I don’t know if you should get too attached to someone you'll probably never meet.”

She sighed, the pain turning into a dull ache. She rubbed a hand over the spot. She wished her mom would understand, but people without soulmates didn’t get what it was like to share yourself. Her soulmate was a part of her, a companion forged through scars and pain. When she felt their pain, she felt a primal need to reach out, to find them and pull them back from danger. It was instinctual—a need to protect.

Knowing that her mother would never understand, and knowing she could never ignore her soulmate, she did the only thing she could. She lied. “You’re probably right. I probably won't ever meet them.”

Her mother walked over, giving her a kiss on the head and pulling her into a hug. “I've got an early shift tomorrow, so I'm heading to bed. If you're hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge.”

Weeks passed, and her soulmate was reasonably quiet. No new marks or pain to remind her of their presence. She took it as her chance to finally go out for sandwiches with Ned and Peter. It was more fun than she thought it would be. She relaxed, sketching in her book as Peter and Ned debated which Avenger would be a best matched to Godzilla, which according to Ned, was Ant-Man, and according to Peter, was Thor.

Things began to fall into a rhythm, and even though it felt wrong, she found herself growing closer to Peter. Something about him set her at ease. He never pushed, but he never let her get too deep into her thoughts, either. He was a constant chatterbox, and it didn’t bother her. She supposed if she had to name it, he made her happy, and that was a rare thing.

It was a Thursday when her world turned on end for the second time in her life. Decathlon practice was running late. Everyone was complaining, Flash was taunting Peter, and someone had lost all the notes that she’d prepped the day before. It wasn’t a good day. Thankfully, Mr. Harrison seemed to see the day was a lost cause and finally called it quits. Michelle couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Listening to Flash quietly harass Peter, and Ned for the last two hours had her on edge. If it didn’t go against her stance on violence, she would have shoved him into a locker ages ago.

She made her way outside and paused, deciding what to do. Her mom was working a double that night, so she’d given her money to pick up something for dinner on her way home. It was already later than she'd typically be leaving, so she’d missed her usual train. With nothing but time, she took off on foot and started toward a pizza joint a few blocks down. She figured she could eat and then head home.

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and reached into her pocket, peeking at the money to make sure she still had it. Usually, she would be paying more attention to her surroundings, but she was tired and stressed from school, so when a hand grabbed her arm, she jumped. She instinctively tried to yank herself free, but his grip was solid. Her gaze snapped to him. He was taller than her, scruffy, and smelled bitter like acrid sweat.

“Don’t make a scene.”

She was about to argue, to fight, but then she saw the black metal of a gun. Her heart caught in her throat, and she was reaching to pull the money free. The guy went to grab it when a streak of red and blue flashed behind him, and she stumbled back, money still clutched in her hand.

“Don’t do it, dude. Just put drop the gun, and I won’t … Well, I’ll still web you up, but I’ll be nice about it.” Spider-Man was half hanging from the brick wall beside them, his head cocked to the side.

Michelle watched frozen as Spider-Man, and the would-be mugger had a stare-off. She didn’t know what to do—part of her was screaming for her to run, but another kept her rooted to the spot.

People always say things happen in slow motion, and she always thought it was a bunch of bullshit, but she now understood what they meant.

Time slowed to a near halt. The man turned, his arm coming up, his gun lifting in her rescuer’s direction. Spider-Man’s eyes shifted, and he lifted his arm, fingers moving to press something on his palm. She looked back to see the man’s finger slowly pulling back the trigger.

She was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing.

The next to happen wasn't planned. Michelle didn't even think, just moved. Something pulled her forward—a need so deep to protect she could taste it. She slammed into the man’s arm, grabbing the gun and forcing it away from Spider-Man, her mind focused on one sole desire—the need to protect him.

The man growled and fought her, but she held on, pulling the gun down, and then, just as suddenly as it had slowed, time sped up. Things were moving too fast—everything felt like it was happening at once. There was a shout, a curse, and then the sound of the gun going off, muffled by her body.

The man let her go and ran as she collapsed to her knees, hands going to her side. She felt numb for a moment before the pain began to blossom, blood seeping between her fingers as she clutched the wound on her side. She thought of her soulmate as she knelt there, realizing this was probably the first time they’d ever felt her pain. She laughed, a broken choking laugh. She’d been so worried about losing them, and there she was, getting shot. She never even got a chance to meet them.

And then there were hands on her, trying to get her to lie down, nudging and pulling. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain—the movement making it worse.

“Okay, this hurts a lot,” a familiar voice said. “Like, I think that I seriously owe you an apology for some stuff, but we can talk about that later. Please don’t die. I just found you. Well, found out it is you. Oh my god. That’s a lot of blood.”

She looked up to see Spider-Man, who sounded a lot like Peter, holding his own side, looking back at her. “Peter?”

His eyes went wide. “Hey, not out here.”

She tried to scoff, but it came out more like a choking sound. “Were you shot, too?”

He shook his head before gasping and wrapping his arms around himself. “This isn't actually my pain. I'm pretty sure it's yours. We're umm … soulmates?”

She laughed despite the pain. It was wet and humorless, blood finding its way into her mouth. It was too perfect. Peter had been her soulmate all along, and now she was dying in front of him. Fate was a cruel bitch.

He crouched in front of her, gently putting his hands on her shoulders. “Look, I really need you to lie down so I can put pressure on that. The ambulance is coming, and so is Mr. Stark because I panicked, but please, let me help. Karen says I need to put pressure on it.”

She squinted at him, not sure who Karen was, but she nodded and let him help her back onto the sidewalk. He pressed his hands against the wound, sending a new jolt of pain through her. He groaned, too.

“Wow, this is really not fun. I’m sorry I put you through this before. It’s one thing to have the adrenaline to help with the pain, you know? And not to mention the drugs you’ll get, but just getting stuck with like fake pain. It’s so weird. You must have been a really careful kid. I never got many marks or like any pain.”

“You were terrible—always getting hurt.” She grunted when he pressed down a little harder. “Did you cut your finger off once?”

He laughed nervously. “Yeah, umm … I was trying to cut an orange. I missed.”

She hummed, her eyes starting to slip closed. “I was worried I’d end up with a nine fingered soulmate.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no sleeping. The ambulance is coming. Karen says they’re almost here.”

She blinked up at him, her vision going blurry. “You know, I’m glad it was you.”

It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. The pain was gone, and the world felt warm and muted, its edges softened. If this was dying, it wasn’t so bad.

“Don’t! Stay awake!” His words sounded far away.

She wanted to stay awake for him, but her eyelids felt too heavy, and soon, she drifted off. She dreamt of chaos, of guns and blood, of hospitals and silence, of people crying and of a hand in hers. The sleep seemed to last forever and yet not long enough, and when she finally emerged from the fog, there was a hand in hers, one that felt like it had always belonged.

She blinked up at its owner, her eyes dry and gritty. Peter was looking down at where their hands joined, his thumb smoothing back and forth over the back of hers. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess, but he couldn’t look any more perfect. He even had all ten fingers.  

She smiled as she gave his hand a weak squeeze. His gaze snapped to her, and some of the tension melted from his face.

Peter took her hand in both of his. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

Her eyebrows pulled together as she considered. “No. It's not too bad.”

He nodded .”Good. That's good. Because, you know, pain's bad.”

She raised a brow at him.

“Sorry, I'm just really nervous, and we have a lot to talk about—like so much. I never thought I'd meet you.”

She hummed. “Talk later. Ice chips now.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh. “That I can do. I've kept some right here in case you woke up thirsty. I think the nurse thinks I'm crazy because I kept getting you fresh ones every time they melted.”

He went to feed her a spoonful of them, but she snatched the spoon and did it herself. “I was shot in the stomach. Hands and arms still work just fine.”

He sighed. “I was trying to, you know, be romantic, to take care of you.”

She raised a brow again, enjoying the ice melting on her tongue. “I'm a big girl. So, let's talk.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “What do you want to know?”

“Maybe start with what the hell happened to you a few months back that caused searing pain through every fiber of my being for two days straight. Does that ring any bells?”

Peter paled, collapsing onto the chair beside the bed. “That must have been the change. When I got bit, it was like days of the worst pain of my life. I'm so sorry you went through that, and you didn't even get any superpowers out of it. You must have thought I was dead.”

She looked down at the cup of ice chips, chopping at them with the plastic spoon. She shrugged, looking to him. “For a while, I thought so. It made sense.”

Peter groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I'm the world's worst soulmate.”

“You're not so bad. I can definitely tolerate you more than other humans, and you make these faces when you don't think people are looking. They're pretty great. I've got a sketchbook full of them.” She held out her cup of ice. “Can you put this over there?”

He took it from her, setting it down. He stood, reaching down and retaking her hand. “You said you were glad it was me, and I think you should know. I'm umm … I'm pretty glad it was you, too.” He squeezed her hand. “I don't know what's gonna happen in the future, but whatever it is, I look forward to figuring it out with you. If you want me around.”

She studied him for a moment. There was a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, I think I'll keep you around for a while.”

He looked up at her, a small smile on his lips. “You're not gonna hit me if I try to kiss you, are you?”

She groaned as she tried not to laugh, her stomach protesting the movement, but a little pain wasn't going to stop her from getting what she wanted. Reaching over, she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down. He took the hint, his free hand going to support himself beside her head, while his other hand still held hers. He lowered himself down, so they were barely touching, his lips brushing hers. She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss was cautious and hesitant, full of the awkwardness of youth, but soon it melted into warmth and comfort—into what felt like home.

They’d beaten all the odds, and they’d found each other amongst the masses, despite fate and science working against them. People with soulmates were often the loneliest—destined for a life of having your perfect match waiting but always out of reach.

Though she never considered herself a religious person, she wondered if somewhere out there, someone had been looking out for her and Peter, helping them to find each other, making sure they didn't end up alone. It made her smile to think maybe it had been Peter's parents or her grandparents she missed so much, were still watching over them after all these years.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty please let me know what you think! This story has so many firsts for me. I am really nervous.


End file.
